


A Night of Oblivion

by Kitty_trash



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_trash/pseuds/Kitty_trash
Summary: Sherlock finds nude photos of himself on John's laptop and demands to know where John got them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I have written for other fandoms but surprisingly not for my favorite ship! I hope you all enjoy :D

Sherlock has been insufferable. John does what he always does and assumes Sherlock is just bored. He’s been out of the flat all day to get away from Sherlock telling him to  
stop breathing- bloody wanker.  
John usually can tell, John knows everything there is to know about Sherlock Holmes. This time, he just couldn’t place it. There were cases on the website, that’s for damn sure. Sherlock didn’t want any of them. Mycroft even had a big one for him, a murder, serial killer. Nope.  
John sighed, staring at his tea as if it would have all the answers. He chuckled, even the best psychiatrist can’t unlock the secret of Sherlock Holmes, how on earth could a cup of tea?  
“So, is this where you’ve been sulking all day?”  
John sighed at the familiar voice and glared upward, “I’m not sulking, I’m breathing. Something I’m apparently not aloud to do in my own flat.”  
“Oh, stop that John, whining doesn’t suit you.” Sherlock motioned for a tea and the waitress comes running.  
“How do you do that? Women fall all over you and you couldn’t even care to notice a one of them.” John says, baffled.  
“Women aren’t really my thing.” Sherlock says through gritted teeth.  
“Yeah we get it, women aren’t your thing, men aren’t your thing. Murder though, for some reason that is your thing.” John says sarcastically.  
“Oh, John. Always assuming.” Sherlock sips his tea.  
John watched as Sherlock’s adams apple dances with the action of gulping. He caught a slight moan in the back of his throat, covering it with a cough. He throws money on the table and gets up to exit the tea shop.  
Sherlock sits still, saying, “You’ll be home for supper?”  
“Don’t know.” John says, exiting. If Sherlock gets to be present whenever her feels like, so can John. He was mumbling to himself now, crossing the street. He didn’t know quite where he was walking too, or quite why he had left. All he knew is that he couldn’t be around Sherlock these days without feeling...odd.  
John feels his phone vibrate.

Come home, we’ve got one. SH

John sighs and heads back to the flat. Who knows what Sherlock needs, someone to listen to him drabble on, someone to admire his vast intellect, or he could be on the verge of death. One thing about Sherlock Holmes is, he always keeps you guessing. 

“Sit.” Sherlock barks. He’s in his chair, on edge.  
John sits, knowing when to be quip, and now it not that time. “Is this my intervention?” He says the quip anyway.  
“I found them, John.” Sherlock’s voice is deep, so deep that John could feel it in his chest. Vibrating there, like something was contained in his ribcage, screaming to get out.  
John furrowed his eyebrow, “What in the bloody hell are you talking about?”  
“Oh, don’t play that,” Sherlock says jumping to his feet, “you’d think that living with a mastermind would make you a little bit intelligent!” He spat.  
“Sherlock, I can assure you I don’t know what you are talking about!” John was suddenly on his feet, trying to dominate a man that’s almost twice his height.  
“Your laptop, John!” Sherlock was pacing around, raking his fingers through his brown curls. John often wondered what that felt like. Not now, John thought, not now.  
“What are you babbling on about!”  
“The pictures. The pictures of me! Naked! Ring a bell in that daft brain?”  
John’s eyes widen. He racks his brain, he has never taken nor possessed nude photos of Sherlock, that’s insane. How’d they get there? John searches his mind, trying to figure out what to say. Sherlock won’t believe him no matter what, facts are facts to Sherlock. Nothing is a coincidence with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.  
“Say something, John.” Sherlock almost whispers. He’s standing in front of John now, inches from him.  
John can feel the heat from Sherlock’s body. Is it anger? Something else? What was John hoping Sherlock was feeling? Desire, perhaps. John can’t focus when Sherlock is this close, when his breath is in his hair, crawling down his neck.  
“John.” Sherlock inches closer. Their bodies are touching now, Sherlock leans his head down to whisper in John’s ear, “Explain yourself.”  
John’s heart drops to his stomach, he just now realized how hard it was beating. Frightening, coming from a doctor, but Sherlock has a hold on him, a hold he can’t explain.  
“I’m not gay.” John says, quietly.  
“I didn’t ask you if you were gay, John. I am asking you why there are photos of me scantily clad on your computer.”  
“I don’t know.” John replies simply.  
Sherlock lets out a sigh. Suddenly, John’s back is against the wall, Sherlock’s whole body pinning him there. John can feel Sherlock’s heartbeat through his jumper.  
“Sherlock, what th-”  
“John, did you take those photos?”  
“No, get the bloody hell off me!” John starts wiggling underneath Sherlock. Then, he feels it. Sherlock is hard and throbbing. He gasps and looks up at Sherlock.  
“Then who?” His voice is liquid, seeping into every atom of John’s body. He feels the blood rush to his lower half, his erection pushing against his jeans.  
“I don’t know.” It’s barely a whisper. Barely audible.  
“Well, we will continue this conversation,” Sherlock whispers in a low, guttural voice, “when you figure it out.” The last words came out through gritted teeth. He shoved himself off the wall and stalked to his room.  
John let out an audible sigh. He didn’t know he had been holding his breath the whole time. His brain hurt. He doesn’t know how comprehend what even happened. Where did those photos come from? Why was Sherlock sporting an erection? Why did John get an erection? Why is John noticing Sherlock’s hair, throat, the way his lips brushed his ear, the way his voice, oh that voice, sinks lower and lower the more his anger rises.  
John lets out a grunt followed by punching the wall. “Sherlock Holmes, you don’t get to walk away from this!” John stalks into Sherlock’s room.  
He slams open the door, where he found Sherlock nude, thrusting into his own fist. “For fucks sake.” John exclaims.  
“Language, John!” Sherlock crumples onto the bed. “I was so close.” He mumbled into the bed sheets.  
“What in god’s nam-”  
“Oh, what do you think, John? Are you acting daft, or did you get hit by a cabbie on your way home altering the blood supply to your brain?” Sherlock spat, sitting up, erection standing tall.  
John stood there, admiring Sherlock. His skin is so fair, porcelain almost. There was no blemish, no fault in his beautiful skin. His lips are swollen with desire, pink as ever. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated with arousal. His bones jut out in what would seem like awkward places, but it looks perfect on him. Everything is perfect when it comes to Sherlock.  
“John, what is with you today?”  
“Sherlock, knock it off. Just knock it off. You know what’s wrong with me! You pull me around like a dog on a leash. You make me feel...special. You makes me feel different from other people in your life. You, Sherlock Holmes, are walking perfection. You run across my mind as much as cases run through yours. I sit in this flat all day and admire you and you can’t even notice, which is what I’m admiring in the first place. Fuc-” John ends on a whisper. He turns his eyes to the ground.  
Sherlock shifts on the bed, and suddenly John could see his feet where there used to be wood floor. Sherlock’s finger hooks under John’s chin and pulls his face upward. His grey eyes are boring into John’s, searching, analyzing. John has seen him do this to so many people, not him though. Never him. “What are you saying, John?”  
“Sherlock, I’m not g-”  
Sherlock cuts him off, “What are you saying.”  
“I’m not gay. I don’t find men attractive. Sherlo-” John pauses, and starts again, “With you everything's different. With you I see beauty and grace in everything you do. You astound me and annoy me at the same time every time you open that perfectly pink mouth of yours.” John takes a step closer, closing the space between them. “I don’t know what you are doing to me Sherlock, but I know that I think about you way more often than I should. I don’t know what my sexuality is, but….I know I like you Sherlock. A lot.” Finally, John lets out a sigh. His eyes searching Sherlock’s chiseled face.  
Sherlock is silent. Silent for a very, very long time. His eyes are still staring into John’s. His brows are furrowed, so he’s concentrating, but on what? “Where did those photos come from, John.”  
“I honestly don’t know.” John whispers.  
Sherlock sets his mouth into a thin purse and stares at the wall behind John’s head, finger still under his chin. John yearned to know what he was thinking about.  
“Sherloc-” John is interrupted by Sherlock’s mouth. Quickly, John has his hands in Sherlock’s hair. All too quickly. Sherlock’s mouth is so sure, which shocks John, he had figured Sherlock hadn’t had any sexual, or otherwise, partners.  
“Sherlock!” John exclaims taking a step back. He looks up at Sherlock. His face is flush, his chest is moving up and down so quickly. A blush runs from the base of this throat all the way into his cheeks.  
“What?” He says, panting. His eyes yearn for more.  
“Are you sure?” John asks, shyly.  
A pause, and then a laugh. Sherlock tips his head back and actually laughs. John straightens, preparing to defend his honor.  
“Oh, John am I sure?” Sherlock closes the distance John put between them. “I have wanted you since you entered this flat with your psychological limp and your blubbering brilliance. I have wanted you since I noticed you staring at my neck, and when I couldn’t think because your breathing was to much for me. The hitching, the falling. All I could think about is what I could do to you to quicken your breathing.” He moans. “Oh, John. I am so sure.”  
With this, Sherlock cups the back of John’s head and brings his mouth up to his. Their mouths explore one anothers. They are all tongue and breathing. John quickly feels Sherlock’s growing erection, and follows with the same reaction moments later. They are both grunting and moaning into each other, into their necks, their mouths, their ears.  
“John, let me take you to bed.” Sherlock says, rubbing his leg against John’s erection.  
He moans, “Oh, god.” John moans.  
“John, bed.” Sherlock is no longer asking.  
John clumsily crawls into Sherlock’s bed, not knowing how to lay. Sherlock, still naked, crawls into the bed next to John and at first, to John’s surprise, Sherlock lays his head on John’s chest. He lays there for fifteen minutes. John begins stroking his hair after about five minutes, he couldn’t resist. Sherlock’s curls have been the particular interest of John’s for quite some time.  
Finally, finally, Sherlock rubs John’s erection through his jeans. John throws his head back with a moan. He moves and thrusts with Sherlock’s every move. His fingers dig into Sherlock’s satin sheets.  
“Pants off, now.”  
John scrambled to get his pants off, looking at Sherlock to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. Sherlock doesn’t take his eyes off of John’s growing erection. He bites his lip ever so gently, licking it to moisten it.  
“Fuck.” John moans.  
“John, I will not tell you again, language. It turns me off when you curse.”  
“Oh, bloody hell Sherlock.” Sherlock puts his hand around John’s bare cock and suddenly, he has a loss of words.  
“Is this okay?” Sherlock asks.  
All John can do is nod. Sherlock begins stroking, long and teasing strokes. “Please Sherlock, faster. Oh, go-” John digs his fingers into the sheets even deeper. 

Sherlock kisses John’s inner thigh, testing the waters. John’s moans tell him he can go further. Higher and higher, and suddenly he’s at the base of John’s erection. He stares up at John, his eyes are closed, his mouth gaping from the stroking. Sherlock kisses the base, John arches his back and moans so deeply, so beautifully. Sherlock moans in return. He kisses the tip, tasting the pre cum oozing from John. Oh, John Watson, in his bed?  
Sherlock smiles, just the thought of it makes him happy. With no protest from John, Sherlock engulfs John’s erection with his mouth.  
“Aaahhhh,” John replies. “God, Sherlock you are quite talented for a virgin.”  
At this, Sherlock has to laugh. “Virgin?” He questions.  
“Well, yeah,” John props himself up on his elbows, “right?”  
Sherlock laughs, “Oh, dear John. No, I am not a virgin.” Before John can say why he thought such a thing, Sherlock’s mouth is back around his cock and oh, it’s throbbing.  
This time, Sherlock doesn’t go easy on him. Sherlock has a goal, to watch John Watson cum. He could taste how close John was, and with one flick on his tongue over the tip, John reaches the edge and comes blissfully, and loudly, into Sherlock’s perfect mouth.  
John was shocked. Through the fog of desire he did things with Sherlock that he never knew he would or could do. He looked down at Sherlock, his cum dripping from his chin and has never felt more proud. Seeing Sherlock like this, disheveled, all because of him. He grinned.  
Sherlock, like the wanker he is, wiped off the cum and licked it off his hand. He crawled up beside John and rested his head on John’s shoulder. John has never been more content.  
“John, I have specific needs…” Sherlock begins. “I can only orgasm through prostate stimulation,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.  
This put John in good spirit. John kissed his temple and said, “Good thing you’re shagging a doctor.”  
“Get serious, John. I have a routine, I will walk you through it.”  
“Okay.” John says, avoiding eye contact.  
John’s mind is going a thousand miles per minute. He is going to get to touch Sherlock, feel him, see him in this state of vulnerability.  
Sherlock kneels on the bed in front of John. “Get behind me, John.”  
John obeys.  
“Reach around and wrap your hand around my cock, at the base. Do long, slow strokes up to the top, and repeat.”  
John does exactly what Sherlock says, per usual. Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to have a routine for sex. John was almost thankful for the instruction, as he has never done this with another man before. John could feel Sherlock’s breathing becoming erratic, his head thrown back against John’s shoulder with pleasure.  
“Now, thumb the tip while still stroking,” Sherlock said breathlessly.  
John turned his head slightly to kiss Sherlock’s temple and continued with what he was instructed to do. John could feel Sherlock’s pre cum slicking his thumb which made his cock throb. He was surprised he could be aroused so quickly after an orgasm, this wasn’t usual for him.  
Sherlock was moaning now, perfect, gutteral moans. John wanted to be in front of him, seeing all of his, the flush of his cheeks, the squinting off his eyes, the biting of his lip. John wanted to be the one biting his lip, exploring Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue, catching the moans that escaped the beautiful man in front of him.  
“John, focus.” Sherlock sputtered, “Now, without removing your hand from my cock reach onto my bedside table and grab the lube that is already out. I don’t think you’ll need it because I have already stretched myself, but slick it onto your fingers.”  
John reached for the lube, “Sherlock, I am a doctor I know how to use lubricant,” he huffed.  
“I have no doubts, Doctor Watson,” Sherlock moaned as John started pumping him faster, bringing his hips forward to thrust into John’s fist.  
While Sherlock was distracted with the jolt of pleasure, John lubed his fingers and, feeling that Sherlock was in fact already stretched, pushed two fingers inside his wanting hole.  
“Yes, John just like that, that’s a good doctor.” Sherlock bent over to put his hands on the bed, now he was on his hands and knees, ass exposed to John Watson. John marveled at the sight of Sherlock, fingers twisted in the sheets, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, lip caught between his teeth, eyes dilated with list, and slipped another finger in.  
“John, yes, more, please more!”  
As much as John wanted to give in, he also wanted to keep Sherlock like this as long as possible. He moved his fingers in a come here motion, hitting Sherlock’s prostate. The brunette’s head flew back with pleasure a moan escaping his throat.  
“Fuck.” John uttered.  
“Stop,” Sherlock moaned, “cursing,” another moan.  
Sherlock was moving his hips to meet John’s thrusting, his face buried in the heap of pillows in front of him. Into the pillows he muttered, “More, please, John, I need more.  
John couldn’t handle the begging any longer and lined his cock up to Sherlock’s ass after he lubed it. Knowing Sherlock was fully stretched and prepared, John shoved into him in one thrust, all the way up his shaft, relinquishing a moan from John. Sherlock was so tight and warm and ready.  
Sherlock moaned John’s name, only encouraging the doctor more. He began to slowly withdraw from Sherlock, once his head was visible he thrusted back in just as hard and the first time, angling his hips to hit Sherlock’s prostate.  
“Gah, John, please don’t tease me.”  
“I plan on teasing you until you beg, Mr. Holmes.” John grabbed onto Sherlock’s boney hips, steadying himself for another slow withdraw, Sherlock tried to back onto John’s cock but John’s hold was too strong.  
“John, please! Harder, faster, pleASE” John thrusted into him at the end of his begging and quickened his pace, but avoided the prostate.  
Sherlock was a mumbling mess, John ramming into him, Sherlock’s body responding so beautifully to John’s rhythm.  
“John, prostate, please.” Sherlock begged over and over again, breathlessly.  
John felt the knot tightening in his stomach, he knew he had to get Sherlock to completion. He angled his hips and rammed into Sherlock’s prostate, eliciting a cry from Sherlock. John moaned into Sherlock’s ear.  
“John, yes, I’m going to…” Sherlock spewed his seed all over the sheets. A few more thrusts and John was releasing into Sherlock’s ass.  
The boys stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath. John finally pulled out of Sherlock, causing the man to wince. He sank down next to Sherlock and rubbed his back lightly.  
“I hope that was okay.”  
Sherlock softly chuckled, “You’re not oblivious in all things, Dr. Watson.”  
Now it was John’s turn to chuckle, “Definitely not oblivious to the needs of Sherlock Holmes.”  
John heard Sherlock’s soft, even breathing in the quiet room. John reached over and kissed his hair, falling asleep himself.


End file.
